


Like Vines, We Intertwined

by kurtsbuckethat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of blood and injuries, Post-Battle of Starcourt (Stranger Things), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader and Steve’s relationship is left up to interpretation, Swearing, friends growing apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtsbuckethat/pseuds/kurtsbuckethat
Summary: It started with an exchange of friendship bracelets, meant to last as long as the bond between you two: forever.Life has a finicky way of defining “forever”, though.(AKA: the hurt/comfort friendship bracelet fic nobody asked for)
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Like Vines, We Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> hoooooooo boy. first fic I’m posting here that isn’t smut, lmao. hope y’all enjoy it! <3

_ “We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news—“ _

Your head snaps up to the TV set; you had it on to some rerun of some sitcom as mindless background noise to paint your nails to. 

The screen shows a fuzzy view of Starcourt, the new mall that had recently opened up and run small businesses out of Hawkins.

Only it wasn’t like the commercial they had been airing all summer; where a glowing, neon utopia once stood strong in those ads, was now a slow, crumbling fortress, with flames tearing through from the inside out.

Your eyes grow wide as your stomach drops at the sight. You set your nail polish down before shuffling over to the TV, fidgeting with the volume buttons to listen carefully while your eyes glue themselves to the screen. You drop to the ground in front of the news report, waiting for more.

_ “It is unclear as to what started the fire, but the damage already done is devastating enough,”  _ a reporter claims as the camera zooms off of the destruction and onto their face.  _ “Authorities are saying it could be anything from arson to accident, and they’re not leaving out the possibility of fireworks being the cause.” _

Your breathing falls shallow at the sight of Starcourt in the background, recalling a similar shot for the commercial, mind buzzing as you recall a familiar face while they showcased  _ Scoops Ahoy!  _ within the ad. Absent-mindedly, you tug at the bracelet loosely hanging from your wrist while your mind clings onto that one person.

_ Steve. _

Him in that tacky sailor’s uniform, hat and all, flashed back in your mind. You always laughed to yourself when you saw how visibly  _ uncomfortable _ he was in a goofy hat that hid his best feature. Now, you feel sick, panicking while hoping he wasn’t working during this disaster.

_ It’s late. The mall’s been closed for a few hours now, so he should be safe, right? _

The camera’s smooth panning across the scene unfolding shakes suddenly.

_ “Whoa- hey! What—“ _

_ “You can’t film here. This is an ongoing investigation, and you must vacate the premises immediately.” _

_ “Excuse me? We’re just trying to report the n—“ _

Your gaze floats to the background, while out of focus and unsteady, you catch a glimpse of blue. You can’t make out  _ who  _ or  _ what _ it is, but your gut feeling has the answer already, and it makes your head spin with nausea.

Panic shakes you back to reality, and you bolt through the house to find your wallet and keys before leaving your home and jumping in the car. Your nails are smudged at this point, but that doesn’t matter.

All that does matter as you pull out of the driveway, while your tires are squealing against the road, is Steve and his safety.

——

_ “What’s that?” _

_ Working diligently with the embroidery floss taped onto the table, you don’t look up as you answer the boy that came up to you with curiosity. _

_ “Friendship bracelet,” As soon as you reply, your tongue sticks back out slightly as you focus on your work. _

_ “Who are you makin’ it for?” _

_ “I’unno, whoever wants one, I guess.” Your small fingers move quickly with the string, braiding and knotting the colors in a specific pattern. _

_ There’s a silence that follows, and you can see the boy rocking back and forth on his heels nervously. You stop to finally look up; a boy your age with brunette hair and wide, curious doe eyes watches you closely. _

_ “Did- um- did anyone ask for that one yet?” He musters up the courage to ask.  _

_ You look down at the nearly finished bracelet before glancing back up at him, shaking your head slowly. _

_ “All yours if you want it,” You answer, and a warm smile breaks on the boy’s face. “What’s your name?” _

_ “Steve,” The boy answers as he slides into the bench across from you at the table. “What’s yours?” _

_ You reply with your name as you continue tying off the last few repetitions of the bracelet. Steve repeats your name, making it known he wants to remember. You like the way your name sounds coming from him; makes you feel safe. _

_ “All done!” You grin proudly before leaning over the table, grabbing Steve’s hand to pull it towards you.  _

_ Steve blushes a bit at the sudden contact, realizing he likes the way your hand feels in his, but is too young to recognize  _ why _ it feels nice. _

__

_ You tie the ends of the bracelet together, making sure it isn’t too tight, but hangs close enough that it can’t slip off. Steve watches in wonder at the tiny, powerful gesture. He admires the bracelet, smile growing brighter as he takes note of the colours. _

_ “Hope it’s okay, they’re my favourite colours.” You admit shyly. “I can make you a different one if you wa—“ _

_ “No! No,” Steve exclaims as he holds his wrist to his face, studying the detail of the string wound in a pretty pattern. “I- I want to make you one… with my favourite colours… is that okay?” _

_ Your cheeks flush up as you nod slowly. “Yeah!” _

_ “I just- I need you to teach me first… please.” Steve asks shyly, and you smile, scooting off your bench to move next to him.  _

_ Your arms are touching, and you can feel the hairs on his arm stand on end, and you’re certain he notices the goosebumps across your skin. _

_ It doesn’t take very long to teach Steve how to make a friendship bracelet. It doesn’t come without trial and error, though. He asks to take the string home, the colours he picked as his favourites, to work on it and bring it back finished the next day. _

_ And so, he does. _

_ Steve finds you first thing in the morning, before you’re told to sit in your assigned desks, and he ties the bracelet he made himself around your wrist, just like you did for him. Not too loose, not too tight. _

_ You admire the colours, admire the quirks of some knots being a little messier than others, bringing the bracelet character. It’s more than one of a kind, it was made with his heart. _

_ “Thank you, Steve,” You say softly, tugging on the bracelet. “We’re friends now, friends forever.” _

_ “Will the bracelets last forever?” Steve asks, already knowing the logical answer.  _

_ You surprise him, however, with an answer more emotional than logical. “If we protect them, they will. As long as you have that on, you can always count on me, Steve.” _

_ Steve’s eyes shine over with happiness; he’s never had a real friend before. Not yet. Here and there some kids liked him because he had the latest and coolest toys, or they were jealous of him. Not you, though. You didn’t care about all the silly talk that your classmates spread about. The friendship was pure, gravitational through a simple conversation about friendship bracelets. _

_ Before the bell rings, he pulls you into a hug quickly. It’s tight, warm, secure. You hug him back, trying to match how he makes you feel. _

_ “You can always count on me, too.” _

_ ——— _

It doesn’t take very long for the damage of Starcourt to fall into view. It makes your stomach drop, makes you nauseous at the thought of Steve’s safety being threatened. 

What should’ve only taken a few minutes felt like hours, even while you were speeding, avoiding the streets busy with neighbors setting fireworks off on the asphalt. Your brain wouldn’t rest with the questions filled with dread; was he okay? Was Steve alright? What the  _ fuck _ was going on?

… Were you even  _ sure _ that was Steve that you assumed you saw on the news report? That blue blur could’ve been  _ anyone _ , but your mind immediately jumped to Steve.

And while the questions felt the need to continue, why on  _ earth _ were you worried? You couldn’t remember the last time you and Steve talked, couldn’t remember the last time you truly called each other  _ best friend _ .

Steve fell into a crowd of people that were only his friends for superficial reasons. He fell off your grid pretty fast when he was busy stealing alcohol from his parents’ liquor cabinet, trying to entertain the most rotten of the Hawkins High, not limited to Carol and Tommy H., of course.

It didn’t take very long for Steve to stop responding to your waves in the halls, your attempts to keep up with his life. He stopped answering your calls, always letting it ring, or the few times his parents were actually home, his mother always said he was ‘ _ out somewhere’. _

Steve’s bracelet disappeared around the time he abandoned you, yet you kept yours on. You couldn’t understand  _ why _ you still had yours on, but felt only guilt when you’d even  _ think _ about cutting it off.

You see flames rising despite the multiple fire hoses attempting to tame the destruction, breaking you from your racing thoughts of the past.

The parking lot is sectioned off from the entrances, all far from the mall and emergency vehicles. A man dressed in military grade riot gear holds his hand out as he steps in front of your car. You stop, rolling the window down to speak to him, but not before you’re met with the overwhelming smell of smoke and melting man-made materials.

Your face scrunches up, eyes squinting for a moment. You can almost feel the heat from this far back, and it just makes you more nervous and sick.

“Sorry, you can’t be here. This is an ongoing investigation and the scene is potentially still dangerous.” The man’s voice is muffled behind his helmet, but you hear him clear enough.

“Wh- the people inside? Are they okay? Where are they? Where did they go?” You rush out, and the man sighs.

“Anyone who made it out is most likely home by now. They were all treated by first responders here, and none of them wanted to be taken to the hospital. That’s all I’m able to tell you right now.”

You nod silently as his words sink in, realizing the danger is much graver than you assumed. This…. this was  _ bad. _

You thank the guard as you reverse out of the lot, flooring it as soon as you hit the road, driving twice as fast with only Steve still on your mind.

  
  


——

  
  


Steve isn’t sure how he made it to his driveway safely, but he does. 

He can’t remember the drive from the mall to his house. But he’s behind the wheel, and alone in the car, so he had to have driven himself. Black and blue, swollen-shut eye and all. 

It’s a miracle he hadn’t passed out from the excruciating headache he earned and swerved off the road.

——

_ Among the chaos of emergency vehicles in the parking lot, Steve noticed his car sitting alone, further back in the middle of empty spaces. When he had the energy, he decided to humor himself, and check on the car to at least make sure it was alright, even if just from the outside, while his keys laid in the bunker, now blown to smithereens. _

_ Steve circled the car while his hand dragged across the red paint. He glanced through the windows, not noticing any damage, thankfully. Yet, he still wondered how mad his father would be about having to get a new key. _

_ Mindlessly, as Steve made his way to the driver side door, he tugged on the door handle, startled at how the door clicked open with ease. _

_ As the door moved, his jaw fell open in disbelief. This whole time, he left his car unlocked.  _

_ It’s an accident that wouldn’t be such a huge deal, something to laugh off when everything inside is accounted for, but Steve slumped into the seat and  _ sobbed. _ No warning, just tears finally breaking along the edge of his tired eyes. _

_ Everything came to a head, churning anger and grief deep within Steve, and it only came out in unsteady sobs. He quickly closed the car door, hoping no one could hear him from here. Everyone else has their own demons to worry about. He can’t add to that. He can’t add to anyone else’s pain. _

_ Steve cried while snot rolled down his face alongside his tears. The tears stung his wounds, but not as much as his own stupidity stung whatever was left of his ego. _

_ Frantically, he searched for any tissues in the car, even napkins, anything to remove some of the mess from his face. As he opened the glove compartment, a shiny key fell onto the car floor. _

_ It was a punch to the gut. The cherry on top of this incredibly fucked up evening. Not only did he forget to lock his car, he left his spare  _ inside _ the goddamn car itself. _

_ Steve wanted to laugh, wanted to shrug it off, but only more sobs racked through his body the further his thoughts snowballed. _

_ He couldn’t keep everyone safe tonight. He couldn’t keep his friends or himself out of trouble. And on top of it all, he couldn’t remember to lock his car? _

_ Steve grabbed the key off the floor and started the car, realizing he couldn’t burden anyone tonight. Everyone else had someone to go home to, had someone to comfort each other with, but he was alone. _

_ Voice shaky, he couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “Am I really that useless?” _

_ ——— _

Steve’s body doesn’t just ache, it  _ burns. _ Everything hurts terribly, from the bruises already in full bloom across his torso, to the way his ears ring so loudly, he’s expecting blood to begin to pour out of them. Blinking hurts, breathing hurts, thinking hurts.

He wants to cry. He wants to  _ sob _ , but he knows how  _ bad _ it’ll hurt; that post-sob headache with a stuffed, sniffly nose and exhaustion wrapping around like a weighted blanket.

It’s late, and most of the neighborhood, despite celebrating, are inside and tucked into their beds, safe and sound. Steve wants that, more than  _ anything _ . He wants so badly to run inside and collapse even onto the floor. He could worry about cleaning himself up tomorrow, with the house to himself. No nosy parents around to poke and prod with invasive questions.

Then again, even if his parents were home, he’s certain they would pay no mind to their son, collapsed on the floor, battered and bruised. 

But he doesn’t move. Steve can’t bring himself to move. He  _ can _ move, if he tries hard enough, but he’s just so drained. Resting his head against the steering wheel seems like the next best option.

Even resting his head softly, the contact  _ stings.  _ He hisses out at the pain, but it feels  _ so _ good to not have to hold his head up on his own. That benefit sure outweighs the pain. Well, almost.

Steve’s fingers fidget and fumble around to whatever is near him, trying to take his mind off of the pain. At least, until he can muster up the strength to leave his car.

_ It’s only a few feet, and then the floor is all yours. _

He picks at a hangnail on his thumb, blissfully ignorant to the pain as he tugs at the dead skin, for it doesn’t even compare to the heavy ache he feels everywhere else.

_ Stop, you haven’t picked your nails in years. Don’t go back to it. _

Steve fights the urge as he pushes the annoying voice from his head, reminding him not to give in. Still, his fingers shake, desperately looking for something to tug at, just while he sits here uncomfortably. Anything to distract him.

For a moment, Steve is still, but then he digs in his pocket, frantically searching for something. His sudden movements earn a distressed groan from him, but he pushes past the pain and pulls out a bundle of threads, tied in a pattern, adorning a variety of colours.  _ Your _ favourite colours.

It’s the friendship bracelet you made him all those years ago. 

Steve holds the bracelet, broken and fraying at each end, up to his compromised eyesight. Tears threaten to fall again. He barely had time to cry during Starcourt’s demise, but ever since he got into his car after all was said and done, he _couldn’t_ _stop_ crying.

Now, as he remembers the dreadful night spent in the underground bunker, it finally hits him where it hurts the most.

——

_ Amidst being punched around like a dummy, the Russian guards searched nearly every inch of Steve, desperate for clues that would expose him for the spy they believed him to be. _

_ “I told you, I- I got nothin—“ _

_ A sharp blow to his face stole away the rest of his sentence. Steve wheezed, gasping for the wind knocked out of him. _

_ Taking no pity, one guard continued to search him. He noticed the bracelet, worn but showing signs of a once vibrant, bright life, and slid a switchblade underneath the embroidery thread. _

_ Steve’s eyes grew wide as his heart dropped. _

_ “No- no, wait—“ _

_ He tried tugging his wrist back, tried keeping the memento safe, but the blade sliced through it easily. As it fell to the floor, the other guard stomped on it before shoving it aside with his boot. _

_ “Oh, that did something,” The guard’s voice was smug, noticing the tears that sprang to Steve’s eyes finally. “If you don’t speak, we will break you.” _

_ Steve felt his breath fall shallow, panicking over a simple, handmade bracelet. It wasn’t just any bracelet, though. To him, that was the last connection he had to you, even if he royally fucked everything up. _

_ Tears stung the split skin among his bruises as he continued to cry, falling apart at the thought of shoving you so far from him, and now… _

_ Well, now, he’d never get the chance to fix things. Or try to, if you’d even let him.  _

_ Steve would die far underground before ever getting the chance to repair what he destroyed.  _

——

A car door slams loudly, and though it sounds distant to Steve as he pulls himself from the flashback, it echoes throughout the now empty streets of his neighborhood in Hawkins.

Frantic footsteps rush past his car, and he pulls his head up from the steering wheel. He watches a figure urgently skip up the stairs before banging loudly on the front door.

At first, Steve can’t make out who it is, and he wants to know, but he can’t bring himself to move. Not yet. Everything feels  _ heavy _ and he doesn’t even feel like he’s in his own body.

Slamming their fists away against the door’s surface, the person finally yells out, “Harrington, I swear to  _ god _ , if you don’t open this door I will gladly find the spare key! I’m sure it’s still where you left it years ago!”

Steve can’t help but laugh as he recognizes your voice along with your trademark, persistent attitude, and a smile cracks along his lips. It’s small, nearly nonexistent, but it’s there. He clutches the bracelet tightly between his sore fingers before taking a deep breath, and finally pushes himself out of the car.

He watches as you mutter to yourself, panicking and trying to come up with another plan to check up on him, when he finally clears his throat to catch your attention.

——

_ “Steve, what the hell are you doing?!” _

_ Steve’s legs wobbled as they threatened to give out, but he held himself up to the wall quickly for support.  _

_ “I- I gotta find it—“ _

_ “Find what? We don’t have time!” Dustin had a clearer head than Steve right now.  _

_ Steve knew that, even through the haze of whatever fucking high they launched him and Robin into with that god awful truth serum. _

_ Steve also knew that he couldn’t leave this godforsaken death trap of a secret fortress without your friendship bracelet. _

_ “My- my- my-“ Steve stuttered as he wrapped his fingers around his opposite wrist, trying to charade a bracelet to Dustin. “It’s here, it has to be.” _

_ “Do you want to leave this shithole in one piece or not?!” Dustin yelled at the older boy, but Steve frantically kept searching the floor of the hallway, hoping that familiar bundle of thread would turn up. _

_ Steve remembered this hallway, and though his ticket out with his friends was only feet away, he jogged in the opposite direction. _

_ “Jesus Christ,” Dustin grumbled behind Steve, watching as his friend stumbled about the hallway, desperate to find something. _

_ “It’s— it’s here, okay, just give me—“ _

_ Steve turned a corner to find the room the guards first held him in, and clear as day, the bracelet laid waiting for Steve’s return on the cold floor. _

_ Out of excitement, he tripped over his own feet, landing onto the floor and only adding to the pain he already felt across his body. But Steve ignored it as he reached out to the bracelet with grabby hands, and he sighed in relief. _

_ “Dude, you’re seriously asking to get killed here, let’s go!” Dustin yelled, panicked and annoyed at Steve as he tried to tug him off of the floor. Steve struggled, but he finally got to his feet and followed as Dustin dragged him back down the hallway. _

_ As Dustin and Erica drove Robin and Steve back to the elevator for their escape, Steve clutched onto the bracelet like a priceless prize. Even high out of his mind, giggling away with Robin about the dumbest shit, he knew what he had to do.  _

_ Steve was going to fight his way out of this to stay alive, and he’d make his way back to you. He vowed to himself, and to you silently, he’d make his way back to you as soon as everyone was safe.  _

_ He was going to fix this, once and for all. _

_ —— _

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes lock with Steve’s. Granted, his gaze isn’t in great shape, with one eye nearly swollen shut, but you’re still holding each other’s gaze intensely.

Neither of you move or speak. A moment passes, but it feels like an hour, and then you take the first step.

You  _ sprint _ to him, about to knock him over in a great, big hug like you used to, but Steve flinches, and your heart drops as you skid to a stop just feet away from him. 

From further away, he looked like hell, but this close up, Steve looks like he died and barely came back.

“Fuck- sorry- right- what am I doing—“ You curse yourself for thinking you could just embrace him like everything was okay, when just  _ looking _ at him hurts your heart.

Steve shakes his head before forcing himself to move, fighting against the intense aches and pains, wrapping his arms around you as best as he can.

You notice immediately his grip isn’t what it used to be, and you assume that has to do with the suffering he’s in right now. You want so badly to squeeze him back, envelope him in your embrace to signal he’s safe now. That whatever happened can’t hurt him now. Not here, not with you.

But you don’t. You hear him grunt in pain and remind yourself you have to be gentle with Steve. He’s always been fragile, deep down, but tonight, he’s shards of someone who doesn’t exist anymore, held together by the flimsiest tape found.

You’d get in the way of anyone or anything that tried to lay a hand on Steve ever again. Your heart aches heavily, wishing you could’ve been there to protect him from whatever nearly destroyed him.

“The spare key is definitely still in the same spot,” Steve manages to say, and you know his tone would be lighter, joking, if he wasn’t in so much agony. 

“Knew it,” You reply with a sniffle, pulling back. You don’t let go of Steve completely, though, letting him lean onto you for better balance. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

It takes a bit longer than expected, moving slowly alongside Steve as you hold him upright as you carefully shuffle with him into the house. Immediately, you notice the house’s interiors have changed, but Steve’s mom always liked changing things up, even for someone who was rarely home.

The loneliness that settles in as the house swallows you two whole, though, that’s painfully familiar. Your heart breaks at the thought of Steve coming home broken to nothing, to no one.

You get a better look at him as you flip on some lights, stomach sinking as your eyes travel over the bruising and swelling across his skin, splits and tears and marks that were unwelcome on his body. They travel down his neck, slipping under the fabric of his worn, blood stained work uniform. It’s almost a comical contrast, the dried bodily fluid splattered about a tacky sailor’s outfit, but you don’t laugh.

You don’t know exactly whatever caused this, but you assumed it had to be worse than the fights he got caught up in the previous two years before.

“M’so tired,” Steve whines, letting his head fall to your shoulder. “Just wanna sleep.”

“You should at least clean up—“

“No.”

“Steve, you’re covered in blood and god knows what else.”

“Just wanna lay down, s’too bright in here.” 

You flip the switch off, gently lifting Steve’s head before guiding him towards the stairs.

“You’re going to at least let me nurse these awful injuries-“

“It’s fine, just a- a bad fight, that’s all—“

“Steve, I  _ know _ you. This isn’t fine. Shut the fuck up at let someone take care of you.”

Steve’s mouth presses shut, remembering how hard you were to argue with, especially when you were right. You were always looking out for his best interest.

It’s just been so long since anyone has.

  
  


You send him upstairs to the bathroom, to which Steve takes his time climbing the stairs. Each step is harder to reach than the last, but he’s so close to his bed, some form of comfort, finally.

You scramble to find an ice pack in the kitchen, when your eyes catch on a picture frame, tucked away on a shelf in the next room over. It’s small, but even from here, you recognize what it is.

A moment in your younger years, frozen in time, arm in arm with Steve. You’re both covered head to toe in paint after he helped you paint the clubhouse your dad built for you in the backyard. The two of you are cheesing wide at the camera, and you can practically hear your childish laughs through your teeth. Back when the world belonged to you and Steve, and you two only. 

You shake yourself from your thoughts to hurry back to Steve, ice pack in hand. You meet him in the bathroom, handing him the ice pack before getting to work on his wounds as he sits on the edge of the tub. 

It’s silent for a moment, but you can’t ignore the questions swirling your brain any longer.

“What happened?”

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes as you press a cotton pad with rubbing alcohol to an open wound. Steve hisses at the sting, but only for a moment.

“Listen, you’re gonna have to start somewhere if we’re talking again.”

“Well, I’d like to keep you away from this mess as much as I can.”

You clean off the blood, caked onto his face, huffing in frustration.

“Why was Starcourt on fire?”

“Because a fire happened.”

Annoyance began to bubble within you.

“No shit, Harrington.” Steve fidgets with something wrapped around his fingers, and you glance down. Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight of familiar colours,  _ your _ favourite colours. “You- you still have it?”

Steve’s gaze falls to your wrist, drinking in the bracelet he made you, in his favourite colours. The strings show signs of wear, hanging loosely now, but still intact, at least. 

Tears threaten to spill again.

“I- uh- I didn’t think you’d still have yours,” He admits softly, and you nod.

“Never took it off.” You push his hair out of his face, matted down with dried sweat and blood. “Guess you did. I figured you did.”

“No, I—“

“It’s okay, Steve. Really. I’m shocked you have it at all.”

His heart sinks at your words. You had figured he gave up completely on you, and he knew it. Still, it didn’t make this hurt any less.

“Wait- listen-“ Steve reaches up to your wrist, grasping it gently. You freeze at the sudden contact. “I- I kept mine on.”

You eye him, suspicious. “So, how’d it fall off?”

“It’s- I can’t tell you—“ You sigh, annoyed, but Steve shakes his head frantically. “It’s not like that. I have to keep you safe.”

You shove your hand away from his as you sit back onto the closed toilet lid, staring at him in disbelief.

“ _ Safe? _ Steve, safe went out the fucking window as soon as I asked the goddamn feds what was going on and was told I had to  _ leave. _ ” Your voice was stern, but shaking. Tears slipped from Steve’s eyes, but he kept himself calm, letting you speak. “I thought I lost you forever, and you have the  _ nerve to still _ try and keep me in the dark? When I said you could count on me, I meant it.  _ Always _ . Even after we grew apart.”

Steve tries to speak, but his bottom lip quivers and his thoughts snowball once more. He hasn’t seen you in years, not this close, not face to face and so personally. Across your features lie worry and hurt, but your bright soul still shines through. You’re  _ here _ , and he still can’t help but fuck things up instead of trying to fix it all.

“I- I- I-“ Steve can’t get it out, he’s not sure where to start. Does he apologize for abandoning you? Or for the way he traded in everything pure in his life for some shoddy illusion of popularity? Maybe he should mention to you that the fall from grace nearly broke him, but would that help anything now?

Steve tugs at the remnants of his bracelet nervously while his breath quickens, grasping desperately for the words he needs to say to you, but they all slip away too fast. His eyes squeeze shut as his vision tunnels in.

That’s when you realize: he’s hyperventilating. He’s having a panic attack.

“Steve, hey,” You gently call out to him, softly reaching out for his hand. “Is this okay?”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push himself away, so you grasp both his hands in your own. You run your thumbs along his skin in circles, hoping the movement soothes him.

“You’re okay, Steve. You’re safe. Whatever was after you is gone now.” You try reassuring him, but he shakes his head, and that’s when the sobs escape him.

“I- I-“

You gently shush him, “It’s okay, just take a moment to breathe. Breathe with me, can you do that?”

Steve tries following your steady breathing pattern, but he hiccups another set of sobs out, panic pulling him back down.

You sink to the floor, gently pulling Steve down next to you before cradling him in your arms. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Steve buries his face into your shoulder, gripping onto you for dear life.

“It’s not- it’s—“ He sobs again, pulling you close to him.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” Your heart sinks at the way he cries out, unsure of what to do from here. 

You think back to the photo you saw downstairs.

“Steve, I… I saw that picture of us, in your living room.” You whisper softly as you rub circles on his back. “I didn’t think you still had it.”

Steve can only nod, too exhausted and scatterbrained to find the words to properly respond. 

“It’s one of my favourite memories of us,” You admit, taking note of the way the sobs had begun to settle slowly. Every now and then, one escapes him, but his body continues to relax in your arms.

“M- mine too.” Steve’s voice shakes as he tries to settle down. 

“You don’t have to tell me everything right now. I… I’ll need to know things eventually, but—“

“I almost died.”

The wind is knocked from your lungs.

“I- I-“ Steve’s trying his best not to start crying again, not as hard as he just was, at least. “It- you- I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d lose you.”

Though you keep silent, your heart continued to ache at the way he spoke of your importance to him.

“I  _ did _ lose you. I pushed you a- away. I left you behind and-“ A sob racks through his body, and you squeeze him gently to remind him he’s not alone. “We- we almost  _ died.  _ Me and Robin. Erica and Dustin were with us, too, but… they were safe at least. Th- the Russians didn’t hurt them, thankfully—“

You pull back to look at Steve, “Russians? Steve, is- are you-“ Your words die in your throat as you try to figure out just  _ what _ you were trying to ask.

“Starcourt was j- just a cover-up.” Steve hiccups, clamping his eyes shut to try and hold his tears back. “It was all this- this huge cover-up, and we found out, and they almost killed us for it, and if it wasn’t bad enough, this giant fucking ….  _ monster… _ ”

His eyes open and he trails off as he watches your face cautiously.

“... I sound fucking insane, don’t I?”

You shrug, “I mean… yeah, a little, but … I believe you. Whatever happened, I believe you, Steve.”

He wants to explain everything to you. Tell you all about the last three years, how the Upside Down quite honestly flipped his entire life upside-down. How he quickly realized how fragile and temporary everything is in life, and that he can’t even attempt to sleep without checking that the nail-ridden bat is still under his bed, just in case.

Steve owes you an explanation of everything, he knows that. Keeping you hidden from the truth won’t keep you safe. It’s just now, after crying  _ again, _ he’s ready to pass out for the night, and this will all take quite some time to fill you in on.

As if reading his mind, you speak up, “You’re tired, let’s get you to bed, okay? If you’re still sore tomorrow, I can wash your hair over the tub.”

Steve feels  _ something _ lighten the heaviness he had been carrying around for so long on his shoulders. The weight of his world lessens just a bit. 

“You- you’re- you’ll stay?”

You push to your feet, pulling Steve up with you and holding him steady. 

“What did I say when we became friends?” You remind him as you lead him into his room. 

Steve sniffles, still trying to shake the sadness clutching onto him so tightly. It won’t leave, not anytime soon. You’re prepared for that, though. You’re ready to pick things up where they were left off, fully aware it would take a lot of work to rebuild the bridge Steve burned years ago.

He won’t have to rebuild it alone, at least.

Steve climbs under the covers, rolling over to the far side to make room for you, and you join him. Limbs aching, he still wraps himself around you, afraid to let go, to lose you again.

“That I could count on you.” Steve finally answers, his voice soft but raspy from crying. “And that you could count on me.”

You nod, wrapping yourself around him in return, afraid to let go, afraid he’ll slip from your grasp again. Not from his own doing, but from whatever demons hold him down.

“I… don’t know what your monsters are like, but I’m going to be here for you, every step of the way. You’re not getting rid of me easy this time, Harrington.”

A glimpse of a smile plays up along Steve’s lips, making your stomach flutter.  _ Finally _ a good sign. A sign of hope.

“I’m super gluing myself to you,” Steve murmurs, eyes drooping with the need for sleep. “You’ll never lose me, never again.”

As his eyes flutter shut, your eyes fall on the broken bracelet, still wound between his fingers. 

“Steve?”

He shifts closer to you, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“Mhm?”

Your eyes trail over his face, still damaged, still in pain, but  _ finally _ relaxed. You expect he won’t sleep a full night, and if he does, it won’t be without nightmares of whatever tortured him, but for now…. he’s at ease, and you’re right there alongside him.

“I’ll make you a new bracelet tomorrow, too.”

The only response are the soft snores from Steve, reassuring you that he’s safe. He’s okay, even for a moment.

You’re both safe, and in time, you both will be okay.


End file.
